The Relearning
by 26Chapters
Summary: What if Michael didn't die? What if The Company stole his body from Miami Dade and lobotomised him? What if they cured his tumour and recruited him to work for them? But what if, three years after it all, he starts to remember a few things? Will The Company allow him to get his old life back when they need his talent so much?
1. Chapter 1

'I uh...' he gives a small nervous laugh. It usually means he doesn't want to discuss what's on his mind when he laughs like that. It's no different now. Although his mind is pressing him to dig further, he isn't sure it's for the best. He quickly glances at his watch to see how much time of the session they have left. Only around fifteen minutes remain.

The woman sitting across him, with a writing pad in her hands doesn't say anything, she only waits for him to continue. Her soft green eyes communicate to him that he doesn't need to be afraid, that he should take his time. Before he continues talking, he runs a hand through his head.

'I dreamt of a woman,' he says quietly. He doesn't want her to think that he had an inappropriate dream, so he adds in a rush that, 'I just saw her face.' Her beautiful face, with warm and large brown eyes, and the sweetest smile he's ever seen on anyone. He highly doubts he will ever forget her face.

The woman smiles a little, 'Do you know her?'

'No.'

'Do you think you could have met her and you forgot?'

He thinks about it. Is it possible that they once met and he forgot that they did? He thinks it unlikely, forgetting is not something he does. That's the reason he sees Dr. Watson, or Mara when they are having an innocent cup of coffee on a Sunday afternoon. He, unlike the rest of the world, cannot shut out what comes into his mind through his senses. To make it worse, he absorbs the little things too. Instead of seeing a whole object, he sees all the particles that make it up, everything that surrounds it. His job at The Company fuels his senses more than it doesn't, which is part of the reason he sees Mara. To be honest, if he didn't trust her or like her, he wouldn't see her, but he does, there's just something about her that draws him to her.

'I don't think we've met,' he answers after some time.

'Did you feel anything when you saw her? How was your dream exactly Michael, tell me about it.'

It wasn't really what he would call a dream, not really. He wasn't even there, nor was anyone else but her. She was all alone, giving a shy smile to someone. It was only her face that he saw.

'I just saw her,' he starts, 'it was like, she just appeared...and that's it. I didn't get time to feel.'

'Michael,' the woman places her pad aside, 'you must've felt something...you wouldn't tell me about her otherwise. What did you feel?'

He shakes his head, 'I didn't feel. I just...'

'Just what?' she presses.

'When I woke up...I had this feeling that she meant something.' That is the best he can describe it.

'To you?'

Michael shakes his head, giving the doctor his honest answer, 'I don't know. I don't know.'


	2. Chapter 2

He waves a hand to her at the door, as he always does when she enters. Every Sunday for the past three years, he's been having coffee with Mara. It started as a way of relaxing, but then they became friends and the routine wouldn't die. Mara, as far as he is concerned, is the only friend he has in the world. The people he works with, are far too serious and off to be his friends. He often wonders how he got to work around such people in the first place.

'Sorry I'm late,' Mara sinks into the empty chair, 'I had to get the twins.'

'It's okay,' he accepts her apology. Mara is almost always not on time, something always gets in her way, but Michael doesn't mind. His Sundays with Mara are the only days he thinks worthy of living. His job demands so much from him, that he hardly has time to think about anything but getting it done. Sometimes, he resents being so dedicated.

'Did you order for me?' she sets some of her books on the table, leaving the rest on her lap. Michael smiles a little...Mara and her books.

'Not yet.'

Mara, on Sundays, is just Mara. Michael never brings up any of his LLI or work issues on Sundays, it's sort of an unwritten rule. On that one precious day of the week, they only talk about their personal lives as friends, but since Michael more or less doesn't have a personal life, they talk about her and her life. Today however, he has something that is pressing. He knows he should keep it for Wednesday when they meet for their weekly session, but he can't let go of it. When he spoke to her last on Wednesday, he told her about the woman he dreamt about. Then, it wasn't so much a matter as it is now, now that he's dreamt of her two more times on Friday and Saturday. The latter dreams moved him, because she was crying. He still didn't see more than her face, but he felt certain that it had something to do with him.

'Mara,' he starts quietly, 'I know that we don't do this...and uh, if you don't feel comfortable I won't continue,' he pauses to study her face, and then continues when Mara's expression doesn't change, 'But, I dreamt of the woman again.'

Mara offers him a kind smile, placing a hand atop his on the table, 'It's okay. I know you. You wouldn't just bring something up if it didn't bother you. Besides, we're friends, it doesn't have to be about your condition. We can just talk as friends.'

'Thanks Mara.'

'Sure,' she places the books on her lap onto the table, then gets up, 'I'm going to get coffee, it seems no one is going to wait on us. Hot chocolate?' Michael nods in response. He keeps his eyes on the door after she's gone, observing every person that enters. Not that he ever expects to see anyone he knows (because who does he know except his colleagues and his few neighbours?), but no one he knows enters. He's half bored when Mara returns with their drinks.

'There,' she puts his in front of him. He briefly looks at the drink then back to the door. At precisely that time, the woman from his dreams closes the cafe door behind her. It's her, he knows it's her, because she's facing his direction, just not looking at him.

'It's her,' he whispers in shock, his heart suddenly racing. He doesn't understand what it means to have his heart racing like that.

'Michael?' Mara looks back to where he is looking. He doesn't hear her call his name. In his sight, is only the woman from his dreams, plus a sleeping child on her chest and a man coming from a table to meet her. Her face lights up into the biggest smile as they near each other and even more as she places her free arm around him. The man places a lingering kiss on her cheek and soon after they embrace tightly. Michael can only assume they are husband and wife, because his astute brain (and senses) has seen the rings on both their fingers. For a second he thinks he's disappointed to learn that little piece of information, it makes him turn back to Mara.

'Are you okay Michael? You look...what's wrong?'

A little defeated (for no apparent reason), he answers, 'It's her. The woman from my dreams.'


	3. Chapter 3

Mara turns around fully so that she has the same view as Michael, but Michael doesn't notice, he's too concerned with watching the woman he dreamt about -on more than one night. The truth is, she has nothing to do with him, no matter how he feels. For three years, he's been looking to find home, or at least something that makes him feel at home, maybe that's the reason he thinks she's connected to him somehow. But he knows the truth; she isn't.

'Michael, are you sure?' Mara turns back to him, concern for him all over her face, 'It could be someone else.'

Ever so slightly (as though he doesn't have the strength to do it), he shakes his head, not taking his eyes away from the direction the woman is. She's openly laughing with the man she's sitting with, and Michael can't help it feel a tiny stab.

'It's her.'

Mara, doesn't question him anymore. The tone of his voice –flat, yet firm- convinces her of his certainty. Instead of pushing him to tell her to tell her how he feels, she looks for another way to get him to talk about his feelings.

'Are you going to talk to her?' she asks.

Without looking at Mara, he shakes his head again, then runs a hand over his shaved head, a clear sign that he's growing frustrated. For Michael, it's the tiny seemingly insignificant things that frustrate him. Having the woman from his dreams so near to him, yet completely unavailable for a simple talk, arouses too much frustration in him, more than it should.

'I can't do that,' he replies quietly.

'Michael,' his friend closes a hand over one of his; briefly, he looks at the sudden gentle adjustment, then he looks back to where he was looking.

'I know you don't know much about your life before you started working where you are right now, but maybe she's from the life you don't remember...it wouldn't hurt to say hallo,' she pauses, as though hesitant to say something else, 'she might recognise you.'

Sharply, he looks back at Mara. The thought did occur to him, but hearing it being spoken out loud erases the doubts he's been using to keep himself from approaching her. The actual thing keeping him from trying to discover the truth however, is the fear that he'll find out that he did know her in another life, that maybe in the life that he knew little to nothing about, he caused her a great deal of pain. From his dreams alone, he couldn't bear the pain that he felt her feeling when she cried...discovering that to be true and because of him in the actual life that they're living, will eat away at him.

'I don't know if that's for the best,' he says more to himself than to Mara.

Mara bites the inside of her cheek, 'It could be,' she suggests nervously, 'you'll never know unless you find out.'

'Mara,' Michaels sighs, pulling his hand from under hers to place it atop hers, 'I just can't...maybe there's a reason I don't remember the life I had before these three years. I'm afraid to discover some bad thing.' It's part of the reason he hasn't made an effort to find out about his life before The Company.

For comfort and signalling that she understands, Mara offers a tiny sad smile.

'I think you're afraid of more than that...but I would think that you of all people would want to know the truth...Michael, what if you loved her? Or she you? What if she's your family? We're friends Michael, all I want for you, is the best there is.'

Michael considers her words carefully, then takes a sip of his hot chocolate. It's cold and uninviting, making him not want to stay in the cafe anymore. He sets down his mug.

'I'm not sure,' he shakes his head, 'I don't know if I'm willing to know. Let's just go, I have some work to finish.' Without waiting for her to respond, he gets up, pushing the chair back into the table. Sighing (because she knows she won't get through to him now), Mara follows suit, gathering her books into her arms. Being the gentleman he is, Michael gently takes the books from her.

'Lunch?' she suggests with an eager smile. Michael doesn't resist smiling back, 'Fine, but only lunch, then I'm going home.' If he stays beyond lunch, he won't have the time he wants to think.

'That's what you always say,' she starts walking, and he follows. Four steps from their table, and his heart begins racing. As much as he's trying to ignore the fact that he'll be walking past the woman's table, his body can't, it's actually reacting in the way he's trying to suppress. At the woman's table, who he assumes is the woman's husband looks directly at him and they make eye contact. It's nothing less than shock that he reads on the man's face and the next thing he knows, the woman from his dreams (looking much better than in his dreams), has her head turned towards him. He makes eye contact with her too, but with her, it feels as though the world has stopped moving. He's not exactly sure what happens, all he knows is that something in him ignited in the strangest way when his eyes met hers. His eyes roam all over her face, unconsciously taking every part of her face into his brain, finally resting on her lips. On her lips, he swears with all he has that he reads his name. Michael, he reads again. It's the strangest thing, but he hears exactly how she says his name, even though she's made no sound at all. Her large eyes stare at him, which is too much for him all of a sudden. He turns his face to Mara.

'Are you okay?' she asks him, the same worry from before showing on her face.

'Let's go,' he pleads. Then he's walking out the door and gasping for breath as though he'd been suffocating inside the cafe. He always has an explanation for everything that happens, but for once, he has not a clue of what just happened to him and most importantly, why.


	4. Chapter 4

An hour later, he can still hear her voice pronouncing his name, and it's not quite like anyone has said his name before. Her voice, saying his name, is something close to a wonder and miraculous. How is it that an unknown woman's voice is extremely vivid in his mind, as though it's the lunch set in front of him by Mara?

'Michael?'

He snaps out of his clouded thoughts to look at the person who's called him. He takes a few calming breaths, to help him be the person he needs to be around Mara. Whatever goes on with him, Mara should never be the person he treats badly for it. 'I'm sorry,' he apologises, but he's not sure what he's apologising for.

She shakes her head sympathetically, looking at the barely touched food, 'No, I'm sorry,' she says to him, 'It's just...I know I shouldn't have...you need to know...'

'What is it?' his face alights in apprehension. Between his lack of understanding (of what it is about this woman) and the uncertain way he's feeling about himself, he doesn't know how much more he can take, or rather how much he's able to take before he's harmed.

She keeps silent for a moment, only looking at him, then she takes a deep breath and says, 'I looked you up on the internet when you started eating.'

He expected worse. To be honest, he expected that she would've done that a long time ago, when they first began their sessions and everything was difficult for him. To his surprise, she told him that she would never get information about him if he wasn't the one to give it to her. He believed her, because she never gave him any reason to doubt her, all she's ever said to him, has never turned out to be a lie or deceit. It's for this reason that he doesn't get upset with her. Even if he were to get angry with her, that wouldn't be a good enough reason, seeing as he doesn't even know about his past.

Before he can say anything, she cuts him off, 'I know I said I would never pry for information from anyone but you...but Michael, I saw what happened in the cafe.'

'I'm not angry with you,' he tells her, although he really wants to ask what she found out about him. He's never been interested in knowing about the life he had before, but now that the woman's voice is a firm recording in his head, he wants to know even a little.

Mara smiles quietly, taking the seat in front of him, 'I know you're not, I just needed you to know that.'

'It's okay,' he forces himself to say instead of asking what he wants to know. If she's going to tell him, it has to come from her, he can't push her.

'I don't know how you'll take this, but I think you need to prepare yourself,' she advices. His face changes completely, because he's already assuming the worst. Seeing the new look on his face, Mara shakes her head quickly, to tell him that he's overreacting, 'No, no. Um...you can be sure of two things; one, it doesn't change how I feel and think of you and two, oh my gosh Michael, you're amazing.' The last part she says with a big smile, clearly impressed with whatever she's discovered. Michael smiles in reply because her smile does that to him, although he doesn't much feel like smiling at all.

'I think you overvalue me,' he says.

Mara leans her elbow on the table and places her cheek inside her palm, 'If I didn't know you, I'd still think you're amazing, just by what I read on the internet. Part of me would think it was all fiction, because wow, really...anyway, I know you and I know that stuff's true. You are beyond amazing.' For her benefit, he doesn't object her praises.

'I'm going to tell you what I found out, but only about Sara, the rest-'

'Sara,' he whispers without noticing that he is.

His mind goes blank for a moment, only able to process that name, Sara. He knows two people with that name, it's not uncommon, but somehow, hearing it now, from Mara, makes some distinction there never was with that name.

'Yes,' Mara replies, seeing that Michael is more or less in his own place, but with her as well, 'her name's Sara...and um...'

'What?' he asks quickly, as quickly as his heart has begun racing.

Mara bites her lip, feeling his anticipation thick in the air, 'Sara's your wife.'

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><p><strong>I know the chapters are short, but for the now, they need to be short, because the following chapters will be huge. I really can't cram all these tiny chapters into a big one, but I promise that after the next chapter, the real story begins and longer chapters will be a thing. <strong>

**By the way, I never thanked any of you for the feedback and your lovely encouragement, and I also never apologised for staying away for so long. So, thank you and sorry...forgive me. I hope I don't disappoint you with the rest of the fic.**

**Thank you again.**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is the last short chapter, I promise. Also, it's not much, but I needed to get the story here. Hopefully, you stick around until the end. Thank you for reading.**

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><p>Sara's your wife.<p>

Mara said those words to him, and all he is able do, is remain frozen to the spot. For the longest time, he remains in his chair, not blinking, not asking for more information or asking for anything at all. His mind has frozen for what seemed like the fifth time today. The only things that seem to be working, are his lungs and heart, for he is still drawing breaths in and exhaling. It's a miracle that he can feel his beating heart, when he's totally unaware of anything at the moment. Mara watches him quietly, waiting for him to say anything, but he doesn't. It wasn't what she wanted, not to shock him out of himself like that, but she couldn't let him continue being in silent agony of not knowing what this Sara person meant. She's always tried to protect him from the cruelties of life, because she imagined he wouldn't be able to take much of them without doing some damage to his fragile soul. When she first started working with him, she soon learned that beneath the detached exterior that he displayed, his heart and soul were a fragile part of him. She asked him about it and his answer was that in his line of work, there were things that had to be done, that required him to be cold and detached. Of course she knew that what he did was nothing like manipulation or murder or any of the sort, but what he did, for him, that was ruthlessness (even though the average person would call that life).

'Michael,' trying to bring him back to her, she gently touches her hand to his cheek. The action does bring him back from wherever he was. For a response, he blinks, possibly to clear his sight or to make sure of his surroundings, and then suddenly, he pushes out his chair, bids his dear friend a curt 'Thank you' and 'Goodbye', then leaves. She can only hope that he gathers his head and calls her later to talk, she doesn't want him to drown in the revelation.

Michael gets in his car with no direction in mind. For thirty minutes, he drives without giving thought to where he is going, until he ends up at the beach. There, he sits flat on the sand, looking out at the sea, trying to reconcile his mind with what he just discovered. The problem is, he can't. He can't understand any of it, and his usually awake brain won't process any of what he wants it to. Each time he tries to ponder about his past or think about the fact that he was married, his mind goes blank, and a slight headache develops. In the end, he gives up trying to understand what happened and drives back to his home.

At home, he takes a hot shower, as though it will wash away the wall blocking his mind from thinking about the whole marriage thing. The shower doesn't help. Nor does the exercise routine he creates especially for mind-clearance. When the sun is beginning to set, feeling a more than a little frustrated, he decides to try another way. He takes a seat on the sofa, a writing pad in one hand and a pen in the other, to try to put together all that he can.

Sara. He writes in the centre of the page in capital letters.

He likes the way that name sounds, even in his head, not spoken aloud. Somehow, it just sounds welcome to him. He briefly wonders if he had a special way of saying her name or if he had a pet name for her. The pet name wouldn't have worked, he dismisses thoughtfully, Sara would've done just fine. Involuntarily, he smiles a little at himself saying the name Sara to Sara herself. But then, he remembers what he's s doing, and what it means, and his smile fades away. He was married. Or he still is. He doesn't know which it is honestly, and more than that, he doesn't know which he wants to be. How can he forget a marriage, a wife? What kind of man forgot that he was married? And to a beautiful woman such as Sara. It just doesn't make sense, deep in his being he knows that he's not the type to walk away from responsibility or just abandon things. Shaking his head, he places the pad and pen down, running his hands down his face. Maybe, he can't go through with this after all. Digging into the past might not be good for him, maybe there's a reason he forgot it all until now. One thing that he knows, is that he needs to clear his head, and only one person can help him do that. Wasting no time, he walks over to his telephone; at just around the same time, a knock sounds on his door. Michael sighs in relief; Mara always knows when to be a friend. Being the only friend he has, and the only person who visits his house, he just knows it's her. Besides, no one else has the combination to unlock the front gate of his house. Feeling less burdened than before, he walks to the door and pulls it open. At first, he thinks he's seeing things, but then he hears, 'Michael,' and he knows he isn't hallucinating. It's really her at his door. 'Sara,' he lets out involuntarily, a sharp gasp following immediately after. He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel.

'I'm sorry,' she starts frantically, clearly on the verge of tears, 'I just...I saw you and I followed you...and my gosh Michael...I don't understand...I just...what happened Michael? I couldn't let you go, so I followed you and waited for this...' she stops to draw breath, then breaths out, 'Please tell me it's you Michael.' Michael only looks at her, dazed.

'Sara,' he breathes. To that, Sara starts shedding heavy tears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sobeys (hallo, hi, how are you?) suggested that I do a chapter from Sara's POV. I had no intention of doing Sara for a while, but I realised that she's right, and I have a lot more to work with from her POV than Michael's...so thank you Sobeys, thank you for helping me see the light. Anyway, I said I had a lot more to work with from Sara's POV, this chapter however, is not a good one, because I wasn't sure what exactly to put in and what to hold for the next two chapters (which by the way are part of the same scene). There's still so much to be said between them (this chapter has no dialogue), but I got tired of typing, so I decided to leave it here for now, with the promise of a well thought out next chapter. Hope you are patient enough to wait for the next update.**

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><p>Sara always thought the hardest thing she would ever experience, was the death of her husband. The months that followed his death had indeed been the worst of her life. There had been nights when she forgot that he was dead and would wake up feeling for a body next to her on the bed. The heartache that followed in those nights, was only lessened by the tiny living thing inside her. Without that big part of Michael, heavy revenge wouldn't urged her to go after the whole lot of The Company that was responsible for the death of her husband. Then, the thought that her husband's death would ever be less difficult, was non-existent.<p>

And then, she thought seeing him in the flesh, so close to her and very much alive, at the cafe, was the hardest thing she would experience. In those few seconds that they made eye contact and his name automatically sounded in her brain, she didn't think anything could be harder. She'd been paralysed for a moment, shocked into pretification by his mere presence. Nothing seemed harder than accepting that it was truly him. How could she, after so much time of thinking that he was dead, believe that it her Michael who stood in front of her? She couldn't bring herself to believe that it was him.

Some time later, she honestly believed that tailing closely behind him in Alex's car, was the hardest thing. Actually, she thought keeping her distance was the hardest thing. But, she knew she had to keep her distance. What if she was wrong, and that poor man was just a random stranger who could pass as Michael's professional look-alike? Also, she wanted the perfect time to catch him by himself. It was only that she thought keeping her distance was the hardest thing she ever had to do in her life. In the years that passed, she craved his presence more than anything. So following him around as he drove with that woman he was with to a house, then as he drove with no destination (as if purposely trying to lead her away from him), until he was finally at the beach, was much harder than what she first thought. At the beach, she had even physically forced herself several times to get back into the car to avoid being seen.

But now, now that she's staring straight into his face, into his eyes, and hearing her name breathed from his mouth in that way he always said it, she just knows they'll never be a harder thing in her life than this moment. There aren't even thoughts in her head to describe how hard this moment is for her, or even in which way. It's him, it's really him, her Michael, after all this time, it's really him. From the deepest of her soul, a pent sob escapes from her mouth. It's the way he's said her name, it's that vague Michael scent bouncing off him, it's the surprise on his face, that gets her reacting like this. She's never felt so robbed and given as she does now. The world, or whoever it is that controls people's lives, has never treated her so cruelly, yet so wonderfully at the same time before. Longing, resentment and relief, flood her all at once. Though she can't do more than sob before him, her inside is in great turmoil, each emotion wanting to overpower the others; each of their intensity picking up by the nanosecond. She is longing for him now in a way that she never did when she thought he was dead –if that is possible. In her heart, a wild yearning (fuelled by his presence) develops, causing a most primitive emotional need for him. A sudden resentment -that she doesn't understand at first-, also develops within her; how is it that he's been alive all this time and he never sought her out? Why did he let her suffer like that if he's been alive and well? The bitterness in those questions threatens her emotional need with another need to lash out at him physically, to cause him pain physically the way she felt pain in so many ways for him. But then, she realises that he's alive, not dead, and a great feeling of relief takes over her. He's not dead, he hasn't been dead. Her Michael isn't dead after all. How is that even possible, she wonders? The three feelings conflict within her, all the while she sobs. It's not that she doesn't want to move or do anything, it's more that she feels that she can't. She's asked him to verify that it's really him, but he hasn't, which is part of why she cannot move. Even if she moves, she isn't sure what her action will be. Because she wants to hold him as tightly against her as she can manage, at the same time she also wants to scratch and paw at him with her nails like a wild cat, for allowing her to go through a false yet painful time in her life. Only briefly, she wonders why Michael isn't reacting, why he isn't making any kind of move at all. She doesn't ponder on it too much though, because she starts shaking along with her sobbing. In the back of her mind she knows it's nothing more than her body reacting to the events of the day, but still a slight panic ignites. More than before, she sobs harder. In fact, completely differently, she starts weeping. It's at this point that Michael decides to lay a tentative hand on her shoulder. If it's meant to be comfort, Sara thinks to herself, it's quite poor and does nothing but help her weep more.

'I'm...I'm sorry,' he stammers, his voice a mixture between uncertain and guilty. Even though Sara is aware of his uncertainty (she's aware of everything in fact), she can't stop herself from weeping. It's all she's evidently able to do at the moment.

Michael takes her increased weeping as his cue to get her away from the door and further into his house. The hand on her shoulder grasps a little harder as his other hand cups under Sara's elbow to steer her inside. Sara willingly allows him to lead her inside, having no desire of her own to do anything. Between her emotions and weeping, she has no desire for anything particularly at the moment. Her eyes half closed and streaming with tears, can't see much of where they are going, she only feels it when he softly urges her to sit. As soon as she sinks into the soft couch, she brings her face into her hands, trying to shield her crying from him; all of a sudden, she doesn't want him to see her crying like this. She's stronger than this, only, she's actually not. Especially not when he has let go of her elbow and her shoulder.

'Are you okay?' he asks quietly, but she doesn't answer him. That question must not have an answer at the moment, because she can't think of a reply, even to answer him in her head without audible words. A long silence follows his question, in which Sara continues to cry as if she's been holding the tears in, waiting for the perfect opportunity to shed them all. In a way, she is crying for past times; for her and her son, and for so many things that will only make her cry more if she starts to remember them. Michael can only stand watching over her as she cries, he has no idea what to do or how to proceed from where they are. When more minutes pass with no change from her, he decides to take a seat beside her on the couch. Carefully, as though not to scare her from him, he winds an arm around her back, gently pulling her to his side. His hand on her arm, rubs up and down, in an attempt to calm her down or at least comfort her. She takes note of the action and snuggles deeper into his side. This isn't any random person, she reasons (her weeping starting to fade a little), it's her husband, the man she loves, and he's offering her comfort. Slightly buried into him, his natural scent drifts into her nostrils. If she had any doubt, it dies the moment her brain registers his scent. It's the same as how she remembers it to be. And so is the warmth of his body. Even through the fabric of his shirt, she can feel the heat burning from his skin.

'It's okay,' he tells her carefully. It's not okay, but she will take it, she will take anything from him right now. Being held like this by him, although it's not enough to suffice for the yearning she feels, is enough to dry away her tears. She stops crying immediately, only to lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to take in that she's touching him. It feels strangely unreal, being this close to him, in this way after believing that she would never again get to do it. Michael clears his throat quietly, 'Um...is there anything I can get for you?' With his question, his arm withdraws completely from around her. Sara immediately misses the half embrace and doesn't answer him. The next thing she knows, she's being eased from his side to sit upright on her own.

'I'll get you a glass of water,' he stands up quite quickly, as if he's seeking to put some space between them, 'I'll be right back.' Sara stares up at him as though he's just grown horns, she doesn't understand what his behaviour means. She doesn't get the chance to ask either, because his back is to her in a second, walking out of the room. Instead of waiting for him like he suggested, she gathers herself up and follows behind him quietly. He continues walking to the kitchen with no idea that Sara is behind him. When they enter his kitchen, Sara first takes the time to appreciate how beautiful it is; she can't help wondering if he designed it himself. It's the kitchen of every woman's dream, simply perfect to the letter. Thinking that way, her mind jumps without warning to the idea that he might've designed it for a woman, a woman that isn't her. She remembers the woman from the cafe...when she followed them, he entered into a house with her and stayed there for sometime...is she anything to him? The thought that she might be stings. If it's true, it means that Michael has moved on from her. The Michael she knows wouldn't simply move on from her, least of all knowing that she'd been pregnant with their child. The uninvited thought continues to plague her nevertheless, filling her inside with dread for the first time since she saw him. What if he no longer loves her?

A shattering sound brings her back to the now. She snaps out of her thoughts sharply, looking to find what happened. Some steps away from her, at the sink, she hears Michael swear then stoop down to the floor. She sees what he's trying to do. The glass, with the water he apparently poured in, has fallen to the floor and broken. Before she can stop herself, she cries out for him to not get it with his bare hands, 'Don't.' Partly from panic (from her cry), partly from evident nervousness that Sara can tell coming from him, Michael acts too quickly, slicing into his palm with a large piece of broken glass. Again, he swears, picking himself up and cradling his hand in his other hand.

'Leave it,' she says, walking to him, careful to avoid the broken glass. Gently, she takes his injured hand into both of hers, then directs it into the sink.

'I'll do it,' she tells him, looking at him in the eyes. He holds contact only for a second before he looks down as though in shame. Sara pretends not to notice that, or the small stab she feels because of it. She turns the tap on, softly pulling his hand under in. The flowing water washes the blood away. Automatically, Michael draws his hand abruptly away from hers. Her first thought is that she's turned the hot water instead of the cold on.

'I'm sorry,' he says, not looking at her, 'You're making me nervous...I know that you're my...that we got married, but I just...' he reluctantly brings up his head for their eyes to meet, 'I don't know you. I don't know who you are or how we got married...I just don't know anything.' The small stab Sara felt before, is nothing like the spear to her heart that his words are. She heard every single word he said, it's just that she doesn't know what to do with them. Her eyes pop out at him, begging for more, an explanation, anything that will help her understand what he means.

'It's probably not what you expected to hear,' his eyes roam all over her face, 'and I'm sorry...but it's the truth.'


	7. Chapter 7

Without thinking, Sara takes a step back, almost stepping on the broken glass, if Michael didn't lunge forward and pull her back from the glass. For a long moment –following his impulsive action-, he holds her awkwardly in his arms when he steps back. Sara, dazed momentarily, is only vaguely aware of what's going on, and that she's in Michael's arms. The last words that came from Michael's mouth, have rendered her jelly as much as stupid. Is she expected to have a response ready? To react?

'Are you okay?' he asks her for the second time today, after he's certain that she's gained some ground.

'Um,' she starts, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Her balance may have returned, but her mind is still a little lost. And then it hits hers; he might be joking. He's never been much of a joker, but even he had his moments. He might be joking to test for her reaction. Realising how close to him she is, how much of him she can smell like this, she takes a rushed breath to clear her head; she needs a clear head. 'Please let go of me,' she asks him politely. She's asking him to let her go, because she doesn't know if she's able to pull herself from his arms, not with what's going on at the moment. Michael looks as though he's remembering something, 'Oh, uh, right.' He gently eases her safely away from the broken glass first, then lets her go, taking two steps away from her. He stands a nervous distance from her.

'Are you serious?' her arms cross in front of her, 'Because I...I don't...I can't...' her head shakes, she's badly trying to wrap her head around all of today, none of it makes sense. She wonders if she's tired yet.

'I can't believe it,' she finishes. Whatever reason there is for his absence from her life, she'll forgive him for it, because she knows him, she knows he wouldn't just leave his family. Whatever explanation there is, she'll accept it. He begins shaking his head, 'I'm sorry, Sara.'

'Please stop apologising Michael, it's not helping.' He studies her face for a second, then remembers his injured hand; he stares at it intensely, anything to keep from the look he's seeing on her face. She doesn't miss the message, despite everything; besides, she's still a doctor.

'Do you have a first aid kit?' His answer is to nod. 'Get it for me,' she requests. Wasting no second, he's out of the kitchen in four steps. Sara follows right behind him without his knowledge but for the living room. Entering the living room from the kitchen and not in tears, she sees how plain his living room is. It has no paintings or sculptures or any of those art things that people use to decorate their living rooms, only neatly arranged furniture. It's just like him, she remembers fondly, he's never been the type for more than what he needs. As she walks closer to the couches, she notices (without care) a writing pad and a pen on the coffee table. It's only when she takes a seat in the couch closest to the coffee table, that she gets a good look at the pad. Dead centre of the otherwise empty pad, is her name. All she can think to do is reach for the pad into her hands. Her name. She's seen it written down too many times to count, but this time is different. She's seen her name in Michael's handwriting before, however, it has never brought her to a standstill. She stares at her name on the pad, eyes narrow and mouth a little agape, as if it will bring her clarity. In truth, staring at it does bring her something she couldn't see before.

'That's...' he starts, then stops, he stops moving to her too. Too distracted with her name, she didn't hear him come approach her. There's a look of guilt on his face that would be adorable if the truth wasn't starting to finally set in. This is Michael, when he's not planning, he's thinking deeply, trying to piece everything together. It's very possible that he doesn't know who she is, it hits Sara, he wouldn't lie about that. Not to her anyway. His feet pick up again, leading him to her. In a softer tone he starts telling her, 'I was trying to remember. Believe me Sara.' One serious look into his eyes, tells her that he's not lying, she can't find deceit in them. But somehow, she holds out the pad for him to see her name, 'You say you don't know who I am, but you have my name written here and you keep saying it-' in that way that only you know how to, she fails to complete. It's not that she doesn't believe him, it's that she does. The truth of the reality however, is a little more painful than she would've thought. She'd been willing to forgive him for whatever reason he had for not being in her life when she thought he was dead, but this...this is something else. And the thing about it, is that there's nothing to forgive him for. Her more pressing concern, is what this means for them. Defeated, she drops her hand with the writing pad, only failing to place her hands on her temples because Michael silently holds the kit out to her. She takes it in her free hand when he takes a seat next to her, pushing his cut hand closer to her. The pad slips out of her suddenly frail hand.

'Are you a doctor?' he asks, his voice still soft. It's really this then isn't it, she's starting from the beginning? No matter how many times she sighs, it won't make any difference. She's here, feeling all sorts of emotions for and because her husband. Her husband who has no idea who she is. Right now, she isn't sure crying will do anything for her; the ways she's breaking inside can't be brought together and mended. Gathering physical strength, she nods, unable to open her mouth and 'Yes.'

'I assumed you are,' he says with a small smile. It pains Sara that she has no desire to smile back. It pains her even more when she reaches for his hand and her own starts shaking. Michael seeing this, does the only thing he thinks to do; his uninjured hand wraps softly around her wrist, carefully sliding into the palm of her hand, until her hand is cradled in his. It's the only comfort he can think to give her at the moment. He holds her hand without a single word from his mouth. Strangely, instead of the gesture acting as a trigger of a distant infirmary moment, it steadies her, lighting the tiniest hope that maybe it will be okay. For the first time, a real –small, but real- smile appears on her face.

'I don't...' he begins hesitantly, 'I don't trust people normally.' Their eyes meet and he inhales too fast. 'But,' he continues, 'I feel like I can trust you...Can I trust you Sara?' The thing that gives her the strength to answer is the vulnerability in his question. Michael has always been the one person whose emotions were clear-cut in his words. Even if his question didn't move her, the raw emotion behind it would.

'You can trust me Michael,' she turns her hand inside his to give his a squeeze, her eyes never leaving his. She sees them soften, then the small dark cloud that had been covering his face, disappears. It's interesting that he trusts her just by her saying that he can; it's not much, but it's another reason for her to dare hope.

He takes a deep breath, 'Then I need you to help me. I need to know who I was before three years ago.' So vividly, she's reminded of a previous time when he'd needed for her to listen to his words...that first time she took someone's life, Bill Kim, Michael had been so determined that she did what he asked her to do. 'Give me the gun Sara,' he'd from asked of her. It was completely different from now, but the quiet urgency is the same, she doubts she will be able to deny him his request, even if she could.

'I don't know if I can,' she tells him in any case. What if the memories threaten to be angry and vindictive again? Or what if, reliving that times only deepens the cut into her soul that is the result of his confession. She doesn't want to die more than she is already.

'You are all I have from that life,' he begs, 'Please don't say no.' Just as Sara is about to give in, the front door opens. Both of them look up, and in steps the woman Sara saw Michael with at the cafe earlier.

'Michael,' she starts, walking into the room, 'I was worried, because you were so upset when you left...I had to make- oh,' her eyes land on Sara, 'Um, sorry, I uh...'


	8. Chapter 8

For a moment, each person in the room is confused. It's dead silent, with not even a breath coming from any of them. Sara stares at the woman who's just barged in. Michael blinks as though to clear his vision and the woman stares between Sara and Michael, her mouth hanging a little open. It's Michael who breaks the silence.

'Mara,' he says quietly, then looks over at Sara. He doesn't change his position or remove his hand away from her. Sara looks back at him, hoping the question in her head is clear on her face. There used to be a time when Michael could easily read her, but now that he's supposedly lost his memory, she doesn't know if he will be able to tell what she's thinking. For one thing, she doesn't like the presence of the woman at all, much less that she's come in without knocking, it must be a sign that they are more than friendly.

'Michael,' the Mara woman starts shaking her head, her face taking on the appearance of someone who's sorry for something, 'I didn't mean to...I didn't know. I'm sorry. I should go.'

'No,' Michael stands up quite suddenly. This little action stings Sara more than she understands why.

'Please don't go, Mara,' he pleads quietly. Because Sara knows him, or at least she used to know the him that he used to be, she knows he would rather be in keep the both, than having either of them feeling like they are not needed.

'Michael, if you're busy...' she gestures to Sara.

'This is Sara,' he introduces, looking back at Sara he tells her, 'This is Mara. She's a friend of mine.'

Cautiously, Mara holds out a hand to Sara, a scared smile on her face, 'I'm actually his doctor.'

Doctor, Sara panics as she holds out her hand for the other woman to take, she used to be Michael's doctor, and look what happened. They fell in love, they got married and they had a child. Sara begins to feel queasy, the thought of such a beautiful woman as Michael's doctor, especially when he has no memories of his past life, plays with her insides.

'I'm Sara,' she repeats the introduction. She can't add, 'Nice to meet you' or 'It's a pleasure', because those would be grand lies. With the way she's feeling, it's a wonder she hasn't fainted yet. Before anything else can happen however, her phone starts ringing and she digs into her jean pocket to get it.

'Hallo?' Any other time, she would've stood up from the sofa to answer her call in a more private area, but she doesn't have the strength now.

'Sara, hi. It's Felicia,' comes from the other end. Had she looked at the caller id, she would've noticed that it's an office number calling.

'Hi Felicia,' she smiles into the phone, genuinely glad for at least one person that actually knows her. Sara had only arrived some hours ago and apart from her short coffee with Alex, she didn't get the chance to see anyone else. Had she not followed Michael, she would've gone home with Alex to his newly pregnant wife Felicia. Over the years, the entire group met twice a year and so they became good friend with each other, spouses and all.

'I'm calling about Michael. Alex and I had an emergency at work, so we left him with Maricruz, they arrived about an hour ago. He was already asleep. I told her to call you.'

'Thanks Felicia,' she sighs. At least that's one thing she doesn't have to worry about. Her son is in good hands, and she doesn't need to worry about him for now.

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah,' she nods, 'I'm fine...just...I'll bring Alex's car in the morning. I'll talk to you then.'

'Okay,' the woman on the other end hangs up. Sara does the same to find two pairs of eyes looking at her. To get equal footing, Sara stands up too, still holding the medical kit in her hands.

'I'm sorry for...' Mara begins with Sara, clearly unsure how to continue. Sara dismisses it, 'It's fine, I was just about to bandage his hand.' They both look at Michael for what to do next, while he looks from one to the other. They can't both stay, Sara thinks, one of them has to go, so she acts.

'Michael, I really need to fix your hand before it's infected. Can you sit down?'

'Oh,' he spares one last look at Mara then takes a seat. Sara sits too, starting on his hand immediately. With the perfect ease of a practicing doctor, she disinfects his cut, then applies a little ointment to it, then wraps a bandage gently around it. If she has to think of all the times she's fixed Michael medically, she won't be able to keep count, she's done it so many times.

'Thank you,' Michael offers her a smile, pulling his hand back to him.

'Michael could you borrow me that book you were reading last month?' Mara asks suddenly. He looks up at her quizzically, then shrugs.

'Okay.'

Sara doesn't know what's going on between the two of them, but she knows something is happening right now. She gets the slightest suspicion that Mara is trying to get Sara on her own. Michael gets up, leaving the women to themselves.

'So,' Mara takes the seat Michael had occupied, 'we need to talk.'

Sara plays dumb, 'About what?'

'Michael.'

'Huh,' she says quietly, 'I see.'

'Yeah. Before you talk to him, I need to talk to you. I'm assuming you guys haven't spoken?'

'We haven't.' She doesn't like that this Mara person is behaving like she has a claim on him, maybe she does, either way, Sara doesn't like it. Michael is her husband.

'He only found out about you today,' Mara drops her voice, 'It's all very new and confusing for him. Michael's a little different from the average person. His brain-'

'Mara,' Sara hold up a hand to stop her, feeling very offended. There's not a single thing she doesn't know about Michael. Who is she to tell her about Michael as a person?

'You're not telling me anything I don't know.'

'Right, but you need to know-'

'I'm sorry, I know you mean well, but I know Michael.'

'I just don't want him to be overwhelmed. The stuff I read on the internet...just be gentle with him.'

'I'll remember that,' Sara replies somewhat coldly. Just then, Michael returns, a book in his hand. Mara gets up to get the book from him.

'I have to go Michael. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah. No, yeah, I'm sure.' Mara assures him. Sara can read uncertainty on her face, meaning she doesn't want to go, but she has no choice but to go. She feels a little triumph in that she is staying while the other woman is leaving.

'Goodbye Sara, it was nice meeting you.'

'Bye,' she says.

They wait for her to leave through the door, closing it after her, then Michael speaks.

'She's a friend,' he begins to explain.

Carefully avoiding that topic, she gets right to the point, 'You said you wanted to know who you were?'

'Please. I've never been interested to know that much, until I started dreaming of you.' As soon as he says the words, his eyes shoot out in alarm. He evidently never meant to say that.

'You've dreamt of me?'

It doesn't matter how significantly small it sounds, to Sara, it means a lot. For someone who has no recollection of their past life, it's a big step.


	9. Chapter 9

He wasn't supposed to say that. He didn't mean to say that, but she looked so unsure, that it came out before he could prevent it.

'It's not important,' he pushes it aside. It is important, so important that it kept him awake for most of the night in the past days. She looks as if she's about to say something, but changes her mind.

'I need to know something Sara,' he presses softly, moving his body a bit closer to hers. He doesn't understand her reluctance to tell him of what happened in the life he had, but he doesn't want to upset her either. In the last hour, he's watched her closely, looking for her emotions and reactions on her face. Her face told him all he needed to know. Her face, also provided for an unfortunate distraction whenever he willed himself to concentrate on remembering anything. Her touch, each time, has been perfectly gently, very trained in dealing with injury, but what concerned him more was the fact that he had the feeling that she being like that, was a special way only for him. Inside his head, he could easily see why he must've fallen in love with her in the past, the air that surrounds her is just right.

'Michael,' she turns her head a little too quickly to his side, and they end up with close faces. As he holds his breath, she takes in sharp breath, but doesn't back away. He doesn't back away either. They stare at each other silently until she moves her head back a bit. She backs away too late, because he's already seen the sadness in her eyes. She's probably hurt that he's not the man she used to know. He wishes it wasn't that way.

'Was I a bad person?' he wants to know. He can't imagine her being with him if he'd been a bad person, yet he has to know something.

'No.' The first real smile appears on her face, it's tiny, but very real, 'You were...you were wonderful.'

'Then tell me something. Please.'

She looks at him for a second, her eyes darting all over his face, settling on his lips. For only a split second, he pretends not to notice that she's staring at his lips. Then that second ends, and her own lips part to exhale lightly and he can't focus on anything else. Had he truly kissed her in the past? Did he make love to her? Or hold her pale delicate hands in his own? He tries very hard not to focus on her lips. But he fails. Much more when she leans in to him again. There's a pull to her and he can't move forward or back, it leaves him stuck in place. Even as a free hand of hers comes to cup the side of his face, he doesn't move. Instead, he surprisingly waits anxiously for what he knows will happen next. He literally doesn't remember the last time he kissed anyone, all he knows is that he hasn't kissed anyone in the last three years.

'Michael?' she leans a little way further, their noses almost touching. He doesn't answer her, because his mouth is suddenly dry. He can't wait for the kiss to happen. Oddly, it has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn't kissed anyone in the last three years. It's rather that he can taste the kiss already, as if it's happened before.

'Can I?' she whispers. Had she asked or not, he would've allowed it. But he understands her question. He's not the same man he used to be, as far as he is concerned, they are strangers , and who goes around kissing strangers? Before he answers, she plants her lips on top of his. Just that, nothing more. He thinks he feels them tremble atop his.

Just as he's beginning to think that her lips are pure softness, she draws back, tracing an absent finger along her bottom lip. He can tell that she has no idea that she's doing that. He only wishes she'd given him a real kiss. The ghost of her lips still lingers on his own, and the scent of her hair still present in his nostrils.

'Um,' she smiles shyly, looking away from him, 'where should I start?' He takes a moment to recover, clearing his throat of the hoarseness he feels there.

'The start,' he offers.

'I guess one would say our meeting is the start,' she starts, folding her hands on her lap, 'So, I'll start there.'

'Okay,' he agrees.

'Uh, we met in prison...' she begins to tell him. That already shocks him, but he doesn't interrupt her. He listens to every word she has to say, as though he will die if he misses even a syllable. All through the story of his life, he does his best not to show his shock at the things he did. Sara barely mentions anything of them, except that she treated him for this and that and when he apparently asked her to leave the infirmary door open. It seems to him that the story isn't even about them, because she doesn't mention anything that makes him think of a love life. It's more than a little disappointing that he doesn't hear their story.

'Sara,' he interrupts her with a soft hand to her forearm, 'what about...us?' The story is at the part where he has escaped prison, Fox River as she said, but he doesn't know what happened to her after she left the infirmary open for him and the others. There are several questions he wants to ask her at this point, particularly about her, because she hasn't spoken about herself.

She sighs, 'I don't want to tell you those parts,' she says looking him in the eyes. His face clouds over sadly, why would she withhold such information from him? Apparently, she reads his face, because she answers, 'I'm sorry Michael.' Her hands capture his face again, 'I'm so selfish that I want you to remember me...us. I don't want to teach you how you loved me...I'd rather you relearn it all by yourself. I know it's selfish, but if you've been dreaming of me, then you can-' Impulsively, he cuts her off by attacking her lips with hers. All of a sudden, he just wants to kiss her. Only that. The moment their lips meet, Sara thaws into the kiss and he takes the opportunity to cup his hand on the back of her neck. He feels sparks in his head and a buzzing begins that is making a pleasant humming sound. The kiss is gentle, milking from a desire he didn't know he had to kiss her forever. It's the most wonderful he ever remembers feeling, yet strange at the same time. Strange that it seems familiar to kiss her like this, without heated passion, but rather...need?...want?...love?

'Sara,' he pulls backs for breath.

'Don't ask me anything,' her forehead rests on his, 'Just ask me to stay. Ask me to stay Michael.' Her words tug so deeply at his heart that he thinks he will shatter if she uses that tone to beg him again.

'Stay,' he plants a chaste kiss on her lips, 'Please stay.' Her response, is her leaning flush into him for another kiss.

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><p><strong>Confession time...<strong>

**I'm just so not inspired the last few weeks and I'm sure that reflects in the writing, but do not give up on me yet. Maybe you feel like I'm rushing things or I'm going too slowly, it's just the inspiration is lacking. I have the story planned out and everything, it's just typing it is so hard when I'm uninspired. This chapter for example was not part of the plan, but I felt like I've kept you waiting for so long that I had to do something, so here I cooked up something as I went along. This chapter just happened. Sorry. Sorry again. Suggestions are welcome.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Firstly, i just want to say that your reviews are very motivating, so thank you. Secondly, I'm posting this now, because I don't know when next I will post. Thirdly, please know that I mean for Michael to remember the pain before the good stuff. I feel like he needs to break away from The Company with good reason and I want him falling in love with Sara as they spend time together. You understand right? Right? Okay. This chapter was begging me to post it, and I'm sure you were all expecting something else, but this came to me this way exactly (plus a few new things along the way). Thank you for reading.**

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><p>Michael steps into his bedroom from the shower. He has a towel wrapped around his waist only for Sara's sake. Normally, he would walk into the bedroom in his underwear –having dried off and applied lotion on his body in the bathroom already. He only comes into his bedroom to get dressed. However, today, he's left Sara sound asleep in his bed when he left for the shower, and so doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable if he walks in, in his underwear.<p>

The first thing that he sees, and it takes his breath away, is Sara standing at the window. One of her hands is holding the one part of the thick curtain slightly apart from its twin, while the other is resting around the back of her neck, the tips of her fingers digging into her hair. Her hair is captured into a rough-looking bun above her head (which she must've done when she woke up, because it wasn't like that last night), and she's dressed in the same clothes she was in the previous day. But, oh, does she look amazing! If it's possible, even a little, he thinks he feels his heart twitching...anxious to be near her beauty maybe. Because no, he's never seen anything as beautiful as the sight before him. Briefly, he wonders how it is, that something so plain and ordinary could be so extremely, breathtakingly beautiful to no end, but then it doesn't matter, that's not the matter.

Leaning against the door, he's tempted to let her name fall from his lips, but something stops him. Maybe he doesn't want this very moment to end, or he's afraid he'll frighten her, whichever it is, he decides against saying her name, or alerting her of his presence. This moment should last just a little longer.

He's never felt like this. Maybe he has, but he doesn't remember feeling it. Once, he was speaking to Mara and she mentioned something about finding something you never knew you wanted. Back then, he just nodded his head and let her have her fun at talking, but he didn't really understand it the way he does now. In the past three years, women have been the last things on his mind. There'd been gorgeous women who flaunted themselves at him, making it openly clear that they wanted him, but he never spared even a little glance at them. Between Mara and work, he was somewhat satisfied. Not satisfied enough to say he's been happy all along, just enough to keep him busy with little time for a life outside work.

But, in the span of ten hours, something has changed significantly. He doesn't know if it changed when Sara first kissed him or after that, when he sat on his bedroom floor watching her sleep in his bed, a tiny smile on her perfect face. If he has to be honest with himself, he'll say it was the moment he laid her down in his bed. He didn't think of it at the time, but now he realises that there's something incredibly intimate about having someone held in your arms, and much more when you watch them sleep. When he watched her sleep, he soon realised that he was invading her privacy in a way that he didn't feel like he was, but rather that he was sharing in that with her; he felt like he was a part of her life, an important part, all because he was watching her sleep. As he watched her sleep the previous night, he can watch her standing there at the window, looking out of it, all day long, and he wouldn't miss a thing. A lazy smile spreads across his face. Just thinking how different his life seems now, makes him want to keep smiling. At the window, Sara arches her back as though trying to stretch in a quiet manner. Instantly, Michael feels a change inside him. He knows something is wrong, because he doesn't feel how he was feeling a second ago. His previous comfortable ease is suddenly turning into a dull guilt, when an equally sudden memory comes to him.

**_He puts his long-sleeved shirt back on and walks up to a sitting Sara at the bedroom window, placing a gentle hand on her back. Sara immediately reacts in fear to his touch. His stomach clenches tightly at the action. It's not directed at him, but that she reacted that way makes him want to punch something. It's too painful for thoughts alone._**

**_'I'm sorry,' he apologises, 'I didn't mean to scare you.' She replies by saying sorry herself and he thinks she's apologising for reacting the way she did. She shouldn't be apologising for anything, he thinks, he should be the one asking for forgiveness every chance that he gets._**

**_'Do you want to talk about it?' he asks in pain. Witnessing the woman he loves reduced to this, tears him apart. He wants to help her any way that she's willing to receive help. Without a reply, she lifts her top for him to see her back. Shock and disgust flood him without restraint. His fingers reach out to touch the welts on her back. For just a second, he feels them, then it's all too much and he's pulling her top down to cover her back once again. He feels frustration and anger all at once, but he can't let it show, he has to be here for her. Apparently sensing without looking into his face that he's beginning to blame himself for getting her involved, she shakes her head, 'It's not your fault. It's not.' With great difficulty, he gets the words out. 'Tell me what happened.' At the sound of her sniffing, his heart clenches more than his stomach. She doesn't want to talk about it, that much is clear, but she's willing to give him a little of something for now._**

**_'It's just the Company. It's just what they do, and it wasn't just me... God, it was you and LJ and Lincoln. And it won't stop...' she sniffs some more, 'and I don't know how to deal with that.' The sheer vulnerability in her voice repeatedly lashes at his soul, leaving welts even thicker than the ones on her back in their wake._**

**_'Come here,' he instructs softly. Not hesitating, Sara stands up and begins to turn into him. 'Come here,' he says again. Like someone needing protection, she leans into him as he tells her a third time, 'Come here.'_**

The memory leaves his head reeling. It's as though, right now, through the memory, he had been present in that particular moment with Sara. It still feels so real. The feelings and emotions of that time he just remembered are burning furiously in his head, his heart, all over his body. Without fully realising that he is, he walks softly from the door to the window. He walks right up behind Sara, without her noticing his presence. His hands trembling, he reaches for the hem of her top then begins pulling it up. At this, she turns back softly –somehow Michael notes how his stealthy action didn't frighten her- 'Michael?'

He ignores her; as though mechanically, he continues to pull up her top until her shoulders. A loud gasp escapes him at what he sees. Just as he feared, the welts are really there, a little thinner and not so concentrated, but still there. His free hand automatically reaches out to touch the marks on her pale skin. The first contact his hand makes, he hears her suck in a breath. He doesn't know exactly what he's doing, just that...he just doesn't know what he's doing. He keeps his hand still on her back, allowing the feel of the welts to dig into his palm, his eyes closing, trying all his might to shut out the memory that just came to him. It's as though the pain from that time is still buried in the welts, because he can feel it vividly. For a man he didn't know a single thing about his life up until now, he would swear he's known that sort of pain for a very long period in his life. It feels as familiar as it does afflictive.

'I'm so sorry,' he hears himself say, but as if from a very far distance away, 'I'm so sorry.'

Sara turns to face him, causing his hand to fall away from her back and her top to slide down by itself. Letting go of the curtain, she holds him on either forearm.

'Did you see this last night?' she asks, her face furrowing in concern. His head shakes to answer her. He can't quite shake himself away from that moment yet. Although he knows for a fact, that he didn't see her back last night. They had kissed quite a bit, but after that, she only buried her face in his shoulder, refusing to say anything, and the next thing he knew, she was crying all over again. Like the first time when she broke down at the door, he held her close to him, trying his best to comfort her that way. Soon after her crying quietened, she fell asleep (the toll of the day, probably having set in by then) in his embrace. He then carried her to his bedroom for sleep and spent a long period only looking at her for himself. Not to remember anything, not to trigger feelings, no, he only watched her for himself. To keep feeling what he felt as they kissed. He'd taken the spare bedroom, because he wanted her to sleep in something familiar. He thought that if his scent was still the same, and she slept in his bed, she wouldn't be so worried if she woke in the middle of the night to a surrounding that didn't look even a little familiar.

'Then how...?' she asks again. When he doesn't respond, she runs her hands up and down his right forearm. This gets his attention, bringing him from the memory.

'Was it because of me?' he wants to know. The answer to that is very evident, from the memory alone in fact, but he needs to hear it. He needs to know that he doesn't work for the same people who did this to her.

She begins shaking her head slowly, 'Michael, that was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore...believe that.' For a little second, he believes it, because her voice is so sincere when she speaks.

'It felt,' he starts softly, looking into her eyes, 'it felt like it was my fault...I felt guilty and responsible.' He felt more than that in the memory to be honest. So he asks again, 'Was it my fault?'

Surprise shows on her face, 'Did you remember something?'

Nodding, he tells her part of what he remembered. 'You were sitting by the window and I touched you...but the way you jumped...I felt myself breaking apart. Sara, I need to know if it was because of me.' To have that as his first memory of her, will only eat away at him.

She looks down, answering, 'It doesn't matter.' Feeling like he's using an ancient reflex, he lifts her face up by the chin. He keeps his fingers under her chin.

'It matters if I'm going to remember who I was before all this. It matters if I work for the people who did this to you.' He doesn't add that it matters if she wants him back in her life again.

'What are you talking about?' Her eyes dart all over his face in confusion.

For some reason, he can't seem to keep the truth from Sara, he doesn't even want to. 'I have a job at a place called The Company. Since three years ago, I've been working for them...You said The Company did this to you.' He already has his suspicions about The Company, and if his memory is anything to go by, he can't let it go that they did something so despicable to Sara –a woman he once apparently loved. The anger he felt in the memory had been too great to let go of, even now.

'You work for The Company?' Sara asks, her voice choking, at the same time dropping her hands from him. He wonders if it's wrong that he feels rejected, or if it's strange that he cares.

'I do,' he swallows, immediately regretting his answer. Her reaction to his answer tells him all he needs to know.

'Oh my...' she bends over as if her stomach is in pain, 'I can't believe this. I can't believe The Company did this to us.'

Seeing her like this makes him nervous, 'Did what? Sara please talk to me.'

'I don't...I can't...' she breathes heavily, arms around her middle, 'I have to go. I'm so sorry Michael...I can't...I can't stay here.' Before he has the chance to ask her to calm down, she's running out of his bedroom. This behaviour being new to him, it takes a moment to realise that she's leaving. He sprints after her, calling for her to please stop running, but she doesn't listen to him. By the time he gets to the front door, she's closed it behind her and he stills in his tracks. He can't go after her. Not in his towel anyway, and even if he wasn't in his towel, he still couldn't go after her, because they only just met –for him anyway. The thing is, he does want to go after her. She's made him feel something, something he doesn't understand, but more than that, she's made him want a different life. To find out about his past, to get to know her, to kiss her again. It makes no sense that a woman he's just met can affect him so much, and not even sexually. And yet, as he stares blankly at the door, wishing with all he has that she'll change her mind and return, Sara has affected him without his consent.

'Aaah!' he groans in frustration. He knows nothing about her, where she lives, how he can get hold of her. He knows nothing at all except that he might never see her again. The thought makes him let out another groan, more deeply felt this time.

* * *

><p><strong>Sara's reaction will be explained in the following chapter. Just give me around two weeks. And suggestions people, feel free. I have it planned out, but I can squeeze in what you think I'm not doing or explaining. It will help me in becoming better at writing (I'm still learning you see...).<strong>


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